Fireworks
by Emmylou
Summary: Angelina and Fred’s relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Will Angelina be banned from Quidditch? And will she survive a flying game that's racing through the streets of Cairo?
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Fireworks

**Author**: Emmylou

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all its characters and concepts, are the creation of JK Rowling.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Angelina and Fred's relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

ooo

There were two ways to get to Egypt. The first was to Apparate into Diagon Alley, squeeze into the tiny Travel Agents and step around the crowds of witches browsing for 1940s themed Holiday's in the Bermuda Triangle, then take a Portkey to some dry forgotten flight strip in Egypt, Floo to the British Consulate and collect their Foreign Apparition Permits, before finally Apparating to their desired location in central Cairo.

The other was to get a plane and land in Cairo, get a taxi to the Consulate and be on their way. Sometimes Angelina thought that Muggles really had got things right.

Fred seemed to like doing things the hard way. She'd been in the country almost three hours, most of which had been spent signing forms for their permits, and already she longed for their cool, far-away home. He, however, was bouncing around as though it were all a day at the beach.

"Never met Donkor in the flesh– he's going to be vital if we want to crack the American market."

Bariti Donkor – Fred had been talking about him for weeks. Angelina calculated that Fred had spent more time talking about Bariti sodding Donkor than he had even spoken her in the past month. Donkor's fireworks we're legendary apparently- the only reason Zonko's had rated at all was because Zonko had once worked for Donkor. Donkor had made fireworks Egypt's chief magical export. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes could take over the world with Donkor's support.

"So why am I here?" she asked as they slid out of the backstreet they had Apparated into and began to make their way up a crowded street. "_I_ don't work for Weasley's Wizards Wheezes."

Fred shrugged. "Thought it would do you some good. A little holiday after your accident. Cheer you up. George couldn't come – someone has to look after the shop, besides, his teeth haven't recovered from the Chattering Toothpaste we were trying out."

Angelina looked around at the dingy street, packed with shouting and sweaty people. Her leg ached worse than ever and her tongue was papyrus in her mouth.

"Two weeks in this horrid country listening to you and some insane wizard talk about fireworks day and night. That's supposed to cheer me up is it?"

"You'll feel different later on, I promise," he said. Her sceptical expression didn't change as he grinned at her and sauntered away. She adjusted her bag and stomped after him.

ooo

The door was thrown open the minute Fred knocked and a middle aged eastern gentlemen in a fez and sand-coloured robes burst out, pulling Fred into a bear hug.

"Weezley! You are here at last!"

Baniti Donkor was nothing like Angelina had pictured. He was a fat, hooked nosed man, with dark piggy eyes and an accent so strong it was almost comical.

He released Fred and pressed him into the arms of a curvaceous woman who had appeared at the door.

"Pili will show you to your room, and – oh." He noticed Angelina, and from his expression she was an unwelcome surprise. "And you bring a friend!" he said with a cheery, but put-upon, tone.

"That's my girlfriend Angelina," said Fred, who wasn't making much effort to wriggle free of Pili.

"Your friend is my friend, of course," said Donkor quickly. "Pili – their rooms."

"You are Angelina Johnson," said Pili instantly. "You play for the Tornados!"

"I did," said Angelina crossly. "I got banned for a year."

Pili opened her mouth to speak but was hushed by Donkor. "Enough – do as you are told. Take them to their room!"

Pili meekly gestured for Fred to follow her and Angelina, cross to be left out, stalked after them with barely a cursory glance to Donkor.

The inside of the Donkor's home spoke of faded greatness. The ceilings were low and the furniture was lush. Gold frames surrounded mirrors on the walls, the furniture looked to be expensive and imported. But everything also seemed crammed together too, the stairs were barely feet from the front door, and they were so narrow that two people could not have passed one another on them. They were led up two floors to a crampt corridor that was as narrow as the stairs and they were forced to follow Pili in line formation.

They moved around large fern plants and huge pictures and tapestries on the walls. A Persian Rug shook dust as them as they brushed past it. Finally they reached a small door. Fred, who was by no means tall, had to duck to get inside and Angelina was surprised to find herself having to do so as well.

Inside, provision had clearly been made for one. A pair of male robes, similar to Donkor's, was lying on the bed. A selection of potions and scents for males was littered on the dresser, and a jug and bowl for washing was filled with permanently steaming water, charmed to remain hot all day long.

Like the rest of the house, there was barely room to move between the dresser and the bed.

"Ah, lovely," said Fred, seemingly genuinely. "Reminds me of my school dorm, very cosy."

Pili smiled beautifully and told them in a tremulous voice that she would make arrangements for clothes for Angelina and told them that dinner would be in an hour.

"I've got clothes," said Angelina tetchily. "I don't need-"

"She'd love some nice robes," said Fred quickly.

Angelina glared at him. Pili nodded and fled.

"What did you say that for?" hissed Angelina.

"Come on Angel, when you're in Rome…"

"-dress like a twerp? Is that what you're saying?" snapped Angelina.

"Aww, come on, you could do the dance of the seven veils for me later…"

Angelina dumped her bag onto the bed and began rifling through it, pointedly ignoring him.

ooo

This is my first fic in ages, I've had a lot of block and so this is the first I've managed. The new chapter will be up soon. If you've got time, a review will make me squee; I don't mind a little crit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Fireworks

**Author**: Emmylou

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all its characters and concepts, are the creation of JK Rowling.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Angelina and Fred's relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

**A/N**: Thank you to** dragonsrgorgeous07** and **TeahWeah** for your reviews. I will work on the transitions, I promise.

ooo

Once robes had been provided and Angelina had struggled into the many veils and wraps on the outfit she had been given, she and Fred fought their way back downstairs to the hallway, where they were taken to a dining room.

Like the rest of the rooms they'd seen, there was very little actual room in it. They had to slide into the gap between the table and the dresser. Fred had to suck his stomach in to seat himself. Within minutes the table was full of people, Donkor seated himself proudly at the table while his wife and Pili dashed around with plates and jugs. They were joined by two elderly gentlemen, dressed similarly to Donkor, each wearing the same crest on their fez.

"Donkor's logo," murmured Fred.

Mrs. Donkor and Pili seemed to have gone out of their way to be properly British in honour of their guests,

"Steak and kidney pudding!" enthused Fred. "And chips!"

"We have Rice Pudding for …afters," said Mrs. Donkor, her mouth saying the strange words with an unfamiliar tongue.

"That's lovely," said Angelina, saying the first honest compliment she had said all day. "Thanks for taking the time to do this for us."

Fred was soon chatting eagerly about the work ahead of them, so Angelina settled for tucking in to her meal and ignoring anything to do with fireworks. She learned that, contrary to what she and Fred had believed, Pili was not a maid, but Mr. and Mrs. Donkor's youngest daughter. She was nineteen, and had just finished school. She remained as quiet as Angelina throughout most of the meal, but her curiosity seemed to get the better of her, and after requesting Angelina pass her the peas, she timidly asked the question that had been on every Tornado fan's mind since the ban.

"How did you get banned?"

Angelina rolled her mouthful of water around in her mouth, feeling rather off her food now, before speaking. "There was a crash," she said. "We were playing the Harpies, and they've got a nasty Chaser…the referee decided it was my fault. I hurt my leg and the chaser was unable to fly for a month – so I was banned for a year."

"I suppose that sort of thing happens all the time..." said Pili.

"No." said Angelina. "It shouldn't have happened at all."

ooo

That night, Fred was even more enthusiastic about fireworks and Angelina was very out of spirits. "A deal with Donkor – a chance to work with him! I still can't believe it- George is going to be sick with jealously when I tell him all about…"

Fred looked up from drying off his face and finally seemed to realise Angelina's mood. He backtracked at the speed of man. "I mean, are you okay? How's your leg?"

Angelina crawled into bed. "Sore," she said huffily.

"Well, you'll have a chance to rest up. And you might be able to get some sightseeing done….Bill was telling me about a fantastic shrunken-head museum not too far away…"

"I don't want to go and see any shrunken heads."

"I remember going to a fantastic restaurant when we were on holiday here as kids…"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Oh, right."

Fred tugged off his robe and rinsed his face in the jug before climbing in next to her. They lay there staring at the ceiling.

The streets outside were lit by huge flaming lanterns, Angelina felt she could probably have read a book without even turning on a lamp and wondered how she would ever get to sleep.

It was hot inside and she felt the sweat she had rinsed off returning. She squirmed and felt Fred moving awkwardly.

"Goodnight then," he said.

It seemed hard to believe that a month ago they would have been all over each other. She probably would have loved Egypt and everything between them would have been great. Now they were lying stiffly next to one another, her mood black, his unsure.

"'Night," she said.

ooo

Their awkward night didn't seem to stop Fred awaking with his usual enthusiasm. He had already been to the lavatory, washed and dressed (eagerly donning his Egyptian robe), and was hopping up and down impatiently waiting for her by the time she had opened her first bleary eye.

She dressed in a much slower manner, choosing a simpler and cooler robe that she had bought in London and got out her make-up to try and make something of herself.

Fred was tutting and checking his watch by the time they left for breakfast, where they were treated to sausage, egg, and beans.

"Just like home this," said Fred, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. "Or like it would be if Angelina could cook."

Pili giggled and Angelina stabbed her sausage rather harshly.

"Is everything to your liking Mr. Weezley?" asked Donkor greasily. "We wanted to make sure you felt at home."

There was a sudden loud bang that rattled the room, Fred and Angelina jumped, but the two elderly wizards barely glanced up from their paper, and Pili only glanced to the clock.

"It's early for the factory to open father," she said.

Donkor grinned proudly to Fred. "I got everyone in starting up early today – I wanted you and your lady to see the factory at full work."

Angelina reached for an abandoned paper and tapped it with her wand, only translating half of it in her mood.

Once breakfast was over, Angelina has hoped to be allowed freedom to wander out into the streets, where it might be cooler and even possible to find something relaxing to enjoy. When she ventured this idea, Fred turned to her in horror.

"We can't go out Angel," he said. "Donkor's promised us a tour!"

He turned to Donkor and said in an oily voice; ""Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is a family orientated company. Every member takes the business very seriously."

Angelina gave Donkor a grim smile. "Yes – I can't believe I wasted all that time flying in a Quidditch team when they were crying out for shop-girls at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!"

"And a fantastic one you are," said Fred, in a warning tone that was sweeter than a Chocolate Frog.

Donkor seemed to have lost interest in the conversation. Fred switched tracts and turned to the two elderly men opposite. "Another interesting fact – did you know that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was initially financed by _the_ Harry Potter?"

The two men dropped their spoons and began gabbling in their language – the word Potter mentioned several times. Donkor began talking over them, interested once again.

"Harry Potter? He endorse you?"

"Yeah," said Fred airily. "He nips in and samples the products whenever he's in the area." He dug back into his beans as though this colossal name-dropping hadn't occurred.

"I expect he's regretting not becoming a shop-boy too," said Angelina tartly.

"Has Potter tried a Donkor product yet?" asked Donkor greedily, his own sausages forgotten.

"Weeell…not as such," said Fred regretfully. "They're a bit of a speciality product back home. We're eager to change that obviously."

"He's have tried Zonko's though, they're similar right?" said Angelina, snatching another piece of toast.

The whole table briefly shook. One of the old men slammed his up down, the other muttering something that sounded like a curse. Pili gasped and knocked her juice over. Mrs. Donkor hissed and Donkor glared at Angelina.

"Thieves!" he spat. "We do not mention their name here! They are the worst kind of scoundrel."

"Firework stealing…I bet the Ministry are on high alert," muttered Angelina. Fred kicked her under the table.

"You're right of course. Very lacklustre product the average Zonko firework." Fred grinned at Donkor. "My brother and I are hoping that with your help we'll obliterate Zonko from the market."

Donkor raised his glass. "Then you and your brother are the very best kind of men. Now – we shall begin our tour, yes?"

ooo

Well, I hope it was enjoyable. New chapter soon. If you have anything to say I'd love a review (anything about the story that is, I'm not too fussed about hearing about your obsession with Brad Pitt).


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Fireworks

**Author**: Emmylou

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all its characters and concepts, are the creation of JK Rowling.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Angelina and Fred's relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

A/N: thanks to **Mystic Phoenix**, **QuenofRandomness**, **almostinsane**, and **TeahWeah** (again!) Your reviews have kept me going.

ooo

Donkor was keen to show them the factory, although not with a enthusiasm for the place but more of a determined 'let's get down to it' manner. To their surprise he did not indicate for them to Floo or Apparate anywhere. Instead he led them back into the tiny hall where they stood pressed against the furniture as he talked.

"My father was a great Alchemist – he even had the honour of working with Dumbledore once. But he found it very dull – he found more fun in hexing textbooks than he did in studying them! When he retired he said he would never be dull again, but he would devote his life to fun. Or at least the fun that includes fireworks – and what other fun is there?"

"You've got me there," muttered Angelina. Fred nudged her, but was too rapt with attention and pressed to far into a hat stand to do much else.

"This factory opened in 1901," said Donkor, apparently not realising that neither Fred nor Angelina could see one. "We have never been out of business since – no matter what the circumstances."

"Will we get to meet your father?" asked Fred eagerly.

Donkor sighed. "He has kept to his room much of late. He suffers a great deal with the troubles of business. I do all of his work for him now." He adjusted his Fez and turned to the stairs. "I will take you in."

He tapped the round wooden knob at the bottom of the banister with his wand. With a sound like a hundred Dominos collapsing, each step dropped downwards to the ground, clicking into place to form a wooden pathway to a previously hidden door.

Donkor walked along it and grabbed a piece of string hanging from the doorknob. He pressed his wand to it and a blue flame shot up the string, reaching the doorknob, which exploded, and the door swung inwards.

"May I humble welcome Weezley's Wizarding Wheezes to Donkor's Firework Factory," he said.

ooo

Fred pushed forward to get a good look first, leaving Angelina to wander down the path behind him. She heard his say "It's massive!" but found herself walking into him as he stopped suddenly.

"What?" she said. She stepped around him and looked herself.

Whatever she had expected when she envisioned the factory, it had not been this. In her mind's eye she had seen a great magical chocolate factory stuffed with explosives rather than sugar. She had expected colours everywhere, workers in strange uniforms, mysterious steaming vats, and perhaps even boxes of gunpowder with ACME written on them.

True to Fred's word, the factory was massive. Cavernous even. It was easy to see why the living quarters where crampt when the house backed onto this. But the walls were grey, and the boxes were brown. Everything was still, and all but three of the hundreds of work stations where deserted. Three men sat at them, not looking at each other, not talking, just funnelling grey powder into grey tubes.

It might have well as made ball bearings as exotic fireworks.

"Where _is_ everyone?" said Fred in a tone that suggested someone had told him Father Christmas was dead.

"Gone," said Donkor sadly. "My father will allow no new workers into the factory. He says they are not to be trusted. Not after Zonko stole all our recipes."

"Who are they then?" asked Angelina.

Donkor walked over to the men. Two of them were the men who had dined with them just this morning. "My brothers – they gave up promising careers in Alchemy to save the factory."

"And when Weezly saves it we would appreciate returning to a career where we actually get paid," said one in a bitter voice. Donkor pretended not to have heard, but she noticed him whack his brother around the head once Fred had turned away.

"This is Garai Konzo!" said Donkor, slapping the back of a young man in a fatherly manner. "My star worker! He is just seventeen – a _natural _with fireworks."

Konzo was a thin gangly boy, totally covered by white robes. His face was unseen because he wore a large white hat that reminded Angelina of a Shepard in a nativity play. She wondered whether it really was a tea-towel.

"How can you trust him if no one else?" she asked.

"He is blind," said Donkor. "He tells by feel alone. He cannot steal what he cannot see."

"But I was expecting…people," said Fred, who seemed to have found his voice again. "Colours! Activity! We can't collaborate with just four people!"

"Five," said Donkor. "Sometimes Pili helps when she has no other chores."

"Five then! Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had big plans for this collab," he said in a defeated voice.

Donkor looked shamefaced. "I'm sorry I made things seem more impressive than they are. But this is my father's dream. In truth, I do not tell him about the factory. I lie. I tell him about colours and people, as you said. He sits in his rooms and designs fireworks I do not have the money to build."

Donkor turned to Fred desperately. "But you do! You work only in one country and yet we hear about your adventures – about your products over here. My friends are hoping for a sample of your Skiving Snackboxes. You have the money and ingenuity to take over the magical world – I have an unused factory for your use and many, many unused plans for fireworks. We could surpass any firework made before! We could return my business to glory and make yours legendary!"

"And how will this work?" demanded Fred. "I mean, whose name will be on the product?"

"You run a joke shop – I am fireworks factory. You sell my fireworks in your shop. I sell them exclusively to you."

Angelina wandered over to the three men who were back tipping powder into tubes.

"What are you making?" Angelina asked Konzo.

Konzo didn't look up – but then, he didn't have to. "Bangers. There is so little magic in them that even Muggles could use them."

He sounded understandably bored and his accent was so strong it might as well been fake.

"Do you like it here?"

He tipped some pink powder onto a scales set. "I like working with Mr. Donkor – we envision great fireworks together. But I only am allowed to go and invent with him in the afternoon. In the morning I tip powder into tubes for pittance."

"Oh, well…" she glanced back to where Donkor and Fred were in animated discussion, "things will probably liven up here soon. They usually do when Fred gets an idea in his head."

"Are you his wife?"

"No…still just his girlfriend. You'll get on with him marvellously. He can invent fireworks that spell out rude words and…well, that was back in the days when he was more interested in what the fireworks did rather than who made them."

She leant onto Konzo's desk, taking the weight off her knee. "So did you go to school in Egypt? Your English is very good."

"I have family in England. I went to school here."

His hand slipped suddenly, the floor in front of Angelina was sprayed with fine pink powder and it exploded the second it hit the ground.

Donkor dived forward, babbling in his native language and clearly giving Konzo the telling off of his life.

"Are you all right?" said Fred. He steered her away from Konzo and lifted her effortlessly onto an empty desk. "My heart isn't half pounding – it just exploding in front of you like that!"

He looked rather pale and for the first time in months Angelina felt a surge of love for Fred. He was sweet when he was worried.

"I'm fine – I think it just made a noise. I hope Donkor doesn't sack Konzo – you'd be down another employee." Not really that eager for Fred to start talking about business again, she avoided asking what he and Donkor had been talking about, but as quickly as usual, Fred's business head returned.

"I've been talking with Donkor and frankly, his terms are very acceptable. This is better than collaboration with one firework – this is practically partnership! I can't wait to Floo George. We're setting up a whole system where no one employee sees the whole process – that way the fireworks can be made but not stolen!"

"Oh, good," said Angelina, who noticed how quickly Fred's worry about her knee had disappeared. "I, uh, I'm going to go up to my, our, room."

_Please_ make an insinuation, she thought. The old Fred would have practically carried her, any excuse for a quickie, before bouncing back to work with a spring in his step.

"You do that, you'll need some rest," he patted her arm and turned back to Donkor who was fast approaching. Donkor paid her no heed, so she slipped away towards the door.

She literally walked into Pili who was walking through the hall as she came out of the factory. The lack of space caused Pili, who had been carrying a pile of laundry with a scrap of parchment balanced on top, to be practically catapulted into the hat stand. Once they had gathered up the clothes and put the fez back into place, Pili handed the scrap of paper to Angelina.

"An owl Miss. It came for you five minutes ago."

She shuffled past Angelina, who looked at the message, intrigued, for only seconds. She recognised that crest…

_The results_, she thought. This was it.

ooo

Another chapter – you realise this is the most I've written in a year? Reward me with a review…

Seriously, I'd love to know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: Fireworks

**Author**: Emmylou

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all its characters and concepts, are the creation of JK Rowling.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Angelina and Fred's relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

**A/N**: Angelina's broom in this chapter is a 57 Levy (57 Chevy – geddit? Levy as in levitation). Sadly I did not come up with this myself but got it off a broom naming thread at Fiction Alley. Thank you to **Ellemorpheus** who came up with it. Thanks to my lovely reviewers too!

ooo

In the end she'd stuffed the letter into her bag and pretended it hadn't arrived yet. Only she knew how serious the results could be. Fred thought a year's ban from flying was bad enough – but a lifetime one? He'd been through that himself in less peaceful times – but there were extenuating circumstances. He'd been banned on a whim by a demented, kitten loving toad. Her ban would be after a week of serious meetings by the Quidditch Council.

That was the bit the Prophet didn't know about. Her year ban had made the front of the sports page, but no one had made it public that it was a year's ban _pending review_.

Her manager had made it perfectly clear he wouldn't let her fly again on the Tornado's team – so even if it _was _just for a year she'd only manage to get onto a team like the Somerset Snorkacks at the end.

She climbed onto the bed, feeling dizzy from the heat and worry. She lay with a cushion propped under her knee, staring at the ceiling.

Joining a Quidditch team was not easy. Sometimes you got lucky and if you'd had a big win on the school team they might be interested. But she had hardly had the success of Oliver Wood in her captaincy, had she?

Oliver had put in some good words and she'd finally got a tryout for the Tornado reserves. She wasn't on posters, no little girls looked at her and thought, _one day I'll be like her_. She trained for five hours a day for a measly sixteen Galleons a week. She'd have got better working in the Leaky Cauldron as a maid.

And at the end of it all, she was only third reserve – there were two other more experienced chasers waiting in line should an injury occur.

Her brother owned a Cauldron company and had offered her a permanent place whenever she wanted. He'd promised her forty Galleons a week too, just for sitting in a dry, warm office, arranging deliveries and orders – and when your on pitch being soaked and splashed, and knocked off your broom for three measly Galleons a day, it was a tempting offer.

One year, she'd decided, one year and I quit Quidditch and find my niche in the cauldron market.

But, to her surprise, things had started to smooth out. Fred had saved up enough money to buy his own posh flat (or "pad" as he insisted on calling it) and he'd invited her to move in by tossing her a set of keys and calling "Get your stuff then!" as he'd bounced off to pick a sofa.

The money pressures lessened when they shared an account (for while her name meant nothing to the community, Fred's was on everyone's lips) and when one of the reserve chasers left to have a baby her chances improved further. Finally she had stopped treading water and was swimming upstream.

Then her chance had come. There was a match against the Wasps that lasted two days. All the chasers were called on to replace their exhausted team-mates midnight, and for the first time since school Angelina had walked onto the pitch among cheers and chants of the crowd. She'd been on top of the world. Fred and George were leaping up and down in their seats, the loudest cheerers of all.

All it would take was for a Tornado's win and she'd get at least a mention in the paper – if she played especially well she might even get mentioned in the player of the week column.

She'd leapt on her broom, adrenalin buzzing through her, and begun the best game of her life. She made moves that would have made Oliver Wood propose to her at school. She scored, again, again, the crowd seemed to be picking up the chant from Fred and George; "An-gel! An-gel! An-gel!"

A wasp had snatched back the Quaffle, she'd swooped towards him, he'd barrelled forwards into her, and as they'd crashed he'd rammed his knee hard into hers with a crunch.

She'd fallen off her broom, woken up in the medical tent, and heard Fred and George's angry shouts as they demanded to be let in to see her. But instead of sympathetic healers, she'd looked at faces of officials, her manager stood to her right, white lipped with fury.

"Recognise these?" he spat.

He tossed a number of small metallic spikes at her. She picked one up. It was as thin as a pin and four inches long.

"No," she said.

"Denial!" roared another man in Wasp uniform. "This calls for an immediate meeting of the council! The Tornado's will pay for this cheating witch!" He smacked the tent flap aside letting in the angry buzzing chant of the Wasp fans in.

The other men stalked out too, leaving herself and her manager alone.

"You foolish girl!" he shouted. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. "You idiot! The team had to forfeit the match – we'll fall out of the league for this!"

"You're hurting me!" she wailed.

He dropped her and she slumped back onto the bed, breathing heavily.

He was young for a manager and he had a temper that infected everything around him. She found herself actually frightened of the telling off she was about to receive, although she had no idea what she had supposedly done.

"Cheating!" he yelled. "You've destroyed the Tornado's good name! A stupid little reserve has done what even our seeker admitting he wears women's underwear could not do!"

"I've not done anything!" Angelina found herself shouting back. "I crashed and hurt my knee! I don't know what these _are_!" she flung them back at his chest.

"I'll tell you what you did! You stuck them into your knee pads! An extra weapon should you have to play rough! They were found sticking into your knee pad. You obviously rammed them too hard because they went into your knee instead of their poor chaser's. He fell of his broom and broke his wrist – they've fixed him up but now they're claiming you flew into him on purpose, tried to ram these spike into him, and when you only succeeded in hurting yourself, you pushed him off his broom and fell yourself to avoid suspicion. You must have been hoping to remove the needles before you got caught!"

"I did NOT!" shrieked Angelina. "I have never cheated! They must have been in _his_ knee pads!"

"If that was the case, why would he fall off his own broom? Hmm?"

"I didn't do anything!" Angelina shouted again. Her knee ached, she was soaked to the skin, and her bones ached from the fall. She burst into tears. "I really didn't!"

"You're injuries are evidence! I'm not letting them be healed. You can have a bandage to bandage them up the Muggle way, but I'm not letting a Healer near you until the wound's been photographed and examined." The manager puffed his chest out and spoke as if addressing a media circus. "The Tornados abhor cheating and will work tirelessly to see that the crime is investigated."

"Now see here!" said a young looking Healer. "If that wound's not healed now it could take weeks to be comfortable again. They need to be mended instantly if you don't want weeks of pain ahead of you! We can't treat her like some Muggle for crying out loud!"

"Bandage it up," grunted the manager. "No magic. And let those idiot twins in, they're making a scene."

Angelina had been notified of the ban the next day, and was told to await news of whether the ban would be permanent. Two months later her knee still ached very much and she was despondent and out of work. Now she was living on top of a fireworks factory in Egypt with a boyfriend who seemed to have forgotten she existed.

She looked into her back, pretending not to see the letter, and pulled out her broom. It had taken some crafty spell work to hide it in her bag without it being noticed, but she would not have left it at home for a thousand Galleons. If she had been banned it would be snapped in half s soon as she returned to England. At least she'd have a few weeks of flying here left – she was only banned in England after all.

ooo

Pili had come in to tell her that lunch was being served and that Fred and Donkor would not be in attendance because they were pouring over plans for fireworks. They were apparently in a conference call with George via the fireplace.

Angelina realised she had been lying in her bed for three hours, clutching her broom to her chest.

"Is that a 57 Levy?"

Angelina looked up to where Pili was looking hungrily at her broom. "Yeah. Fred got it for me when I made the team. You must know a lot about Quidditch – they don't sell this make here."

Pili nodded. "I read every annual that comes out for every team, and I read all about broomsticks from all over the world. They don't report much English Quidditch here so I only know about the players from the annuals. Your picture was in this year's Tornado Annual as a reserve chaser."

"Well, it won't be in next years," said Angelina. She sat up. "Do you have a broom?"

Pili smiled sadly. "No. My father promises to get me the best broom as soon as we become rich once more. Until then I go without."

"Did you play at school?"

"Yes," her eyes lit up. "My…my, friend was rich – her father bought her a good broom but she hated to fly. She let me use it for every match. She would have given it me, but she did not want her father to be angry. I would dearly love a broom of my own. One that is mine alone."

"Well," said Angelina with a sad smile. "If I return to England with this broom it'll be snapped. You can have it when I go. I'd rather it was used by someone."

Pili smiled thankfully but shook her head. "I am grateful, but I would rather get one by my own hand. I want to earn it."

She nodded politely and once again offered lunch, before turning to leave. Angelina slumped back onto the bed.

Eventually not knowing was worse. Stomach churning, she slipped her hand into her bag and snatched the letter.

Make it quick, she thought. Don't make a production. Make it as normal as opening a Gringotts statement.

She ripped open the letter.

ooo

_In regards to the investigation into the injuries received by Angelina Johnson and Christian Brownbolt, a conclusion has been resolved by the Quidditch Council. _

_A full investigation has occurred and all evidence points to Angelina Johnson being the guilty party in this matter. It has been judged she attached long needle like implements to her knee pad in order to attack other players. In the course of the game she accidentally injured herself and retaliated by knocking Christian Brownbolt off his broom. _

_The council have concluded that a full lifetime ban should be enforced banning Ms. Johnson from both recreational and professional flight._

_Yrs,_

_Squiggle_

_Robin Sparrow_

_Quidditch Council Judiciary _

ooo

Woo, two in one day, I'm doing well. Love to hear what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: Fireworks

**Author**: Emmylou

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all its characters and concepts, are the creation of JK Rowling.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Angelina and Fred's relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

**A/N**: Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers! I would have updated on Monday, but the site was playing up and wouldn't let me upload.

ooo

Angelina cried. She stuffed the letter back down into her bag and wept.

In her mind, though, she was planning her next move. That was how she worked – she got the news, had her initial reaction, and then put her plan into motion without a break in between.

She remembered when Fred, George, and Harry had been banned, how she'd shouted herself hoarse and then stalked across the common room to draw up a short-list of replacements. This was exactly the same.

Evan as she wiped her tears away she was deciding what to do. They would be in Egypt for two weeks at the very least, more likely more considering the state of the factory. In those two weeks she would take the time to say goodbye to her broom. She would enjoy her last flights before she went home, maybe seeing Cairo from air would be fun. Then she would polish up her broom, trim the twigs, and sell it if Pili still refused it. They didn't have this make here so she would get a good price for sure.

There were lots of new options open to her. She could settle down with Fred, maybe get married, maybe make her mother very happy and start a family. Things were not hopeless and so crying, she told herself, was ridiculous. Just a silly emotional reaction.

She dug out some parchment, ink, and a quill and wrote a letter to her brother taking him up on his offer of work.

She was just wondering where to get an owl from when Fred came bouncing in.

"It's fantastic Angel!" he whooped, grabbing her enthusiastically by the shoulders and kissing her. "The plans Donkor's Dad's drawn up – the man's a certified genius. Donkor's dead keen about some of George and mine's ideas too. We're starting work on a Farting Firework! Basically you eat it and the next time you pass wind sparks fly out your bum! Great for slipping into someone's food…"

Angelina couldn't help but smile to herself. Tasteless and ingenious, that was how the Weasley twins worked.

"Donkor's dad drew up the plans for the firework you could eat but he couldn't think of what to do with it once it was swallowed…George and I just finished the thought. I can't wait to meet the man himself!"

Somehow, Fred's survival instinct cut in at this point and Fred finally seemed to notice Angelina's tear streaked face. His worried expression seemed to make the whole thing more unbearable, and she burst into tears again.

"The letter came," she sobbed, her strength fading.

"Oh no…" said Fred. He wrapped his arms around her. "We can appeal though, right?"

Angelina pulled away, trying to build herself back into the capable and strong woman she had convinced herself to be moments before. She looked determinedly at the bed-sheet and not at Fred.

"No, their decision is final. I officially cheated. Even though I _didn't_."

"What are you going to do?"

She picked up the letter. "Remember that job Frank offered me? I'm taking him up on it. I'll head home in two weeks and start then. The money will be good – we might even save a little."

"But you don't want that Angel! You want to fly! And two weeks is mad – with this setback we could be here _months_."

"Then I'll set my life up back home ready for you," said Angelina. "It's not like I get a _choice _in any of this!" Fred chuckled, and she was suddenly furious. "WHAT?"

"Sorry," he laughed. "It's just –when I got banned for life you shouted yourself hoarse at me, and now you've been banned for life and you're shouting yourself hoarse at me."

Angelina gave a week chuckle, feeling tired and lost. Fred reached and hugged her again. "Come on," said Fred, "Pili told me you didn't have lunch. Let's go and have dinner and we can see about getting that letter posted."

Angelina nodded, snuggling into his neck.

"I wish this wasn't happening," she murmured. "Farting Fireworks aside."

"I'd personally hand the recipe for them over to Zonko if it got you your ban lifted," said Fred.

For the first time in weeks Angelina thought that they might make it after all. Her knee didn't even ache during dinner.

ooo

"Tonight, we have a special treat!" said Donkor after dinner. "Tickets are expensive – but no trouble is too much for Weezley and his lady!" he had already knocked back a fair bit of wine, clearly in a celebratory mood.

Donkor's brothers cheered, also having partaken in the wine. Or perhaps they really were enthusiastic about farts that sparked.

"Tonight you and your lady attend The Granddaughter with myself, my wife, and my brothers!"

Angelina and Fred shared a puzzled glance. "Is that some kind of show?" asked Fred.

"Show?" Donkor roared with laughter. "It's the best show on earth, but it has no script! It is sport! I shall tell you no more! This you must _see_."

They dressed warm for the cold night. Fred reluctantly took off his cotton robe and pulled his regular ones back on, adding his lime green jacket for good measure. He kept his fez on though. Angelina grabbed jeans and the first Weasley Jumper she'd ever been given with a little angel knitted on the front. Angelina grabbed her bag, shoving her broom back into it out of habit, thankful it was smaller and lighter on the outside than it was on the inside.

They looked at each other, feeling glad to have got through such an awful day intact.

"They'll be waiting for us," said Fred, glancing to the door.

"I know," said Angelina.

She wasn't sure who moved first, but within seconds they were on the bed, Fred's fez askew and his hands writhing up under her jumper.

ooo

When Angelina and Fred finally made it downstairs, adjusting their clothes and trying to look innocent, Donkor and his family were waiting.

"- and what do you do?" said Donkor. He was talking to Pili in the manner grown-ups do when they are leaving a teenager alone against their better judgement.

"Lock the doors and let no one in," recited Pili.

"And what do you do if your Grandfather calls?" demanded Mrs. Donkor in the thick English she used in the presence of Fred and Angelina.

"Go to him straight away," sighed Pili.

"Aren't you coming too Pili?" asked Angelina.

"Tickets are expensive," said Donkor. "Besides", he chuckled heartily, "she shall no doubt enjoy time alone. She will probably eat more than she should and waste Floo Powder talking to her silly friends."

Indeed, Pili looked eager for them to go, so Angelina smiled and said; "Thank you for inviting us."

"It is no problem," said Mrs. Donkor. "You do us a great gift in coming here – we make every effort to make things comfortable. We speak only in English while you stay so that you will not feel out of your element, we eat English food, and we keep you entertained. If you bring back good fortune to our family it shall be worth it."

Crammed as everyone was in the tiny hall, it was a relief to get into the cool open air, which was well lit by the lamps. There was a steady stream of people already outside, all heading along the street in the same direction, clearly out for a night's entertainment.

People had gathered at widows to peer out into the streets, some people had set chairs up outside their homes too, while others stretched out on their roof tiles. People were laughing and singing all around them.

"Does this go on in the streets then?" Fred asked Donkor.

"It happens everywhere magical in the city – everyone gathers outside their homes to get a glimpse of The Granddaughter," said Mrs. Donkor. "If she flies over your house you are said to be lucky for the week ahead."

"Flying?" said Fred, with a worried look towards Angelina.

"Hush," said Donkor. "Like I said, you must_ see_ it."

The brothers, who had been walking ahead, trotted back to the group with a package for each person.

Angelina opened hers to find that they had stopped at a street vendor and purchased spiced dates as treats. They were wrapped in wax paper and were gooey and warm. She ate one and immediately had to wrap them back up to stop herself guzzling down the rest in one go.

The crowd thickened as they moved closer towards where this show seemed to be taking place. Kids ran around them and couples giggled, teenagers chased each other. Even the thought of it being a flying show couldn't dishearten Angelina now.

Donkor pushed his way ahead, leading them up steps that reminded Angelina of the World Cup, until they entered a little box, already jammed with people.

They crowded their way into their narrow seats and finally looked out of the box.

On the ground jugglers did intricate tricks, and fire-breathers illuminated them with brief shots of flame. They were so high up they seemed very far away indeed. But what drew the eye immediately was the fliers. There must have been two hundred of them, all circling the ring like a human swarm. In the boxes around them people waved flags and chanted the names of what must have been popular flyers.

"This is The Granddaughter!" shouted Donkor over the noise. "The biggest broom race in the world!"

ooo

Any comments you have would be great. I've got a solid plan for where I'm going, so this isn't just random events. I'd love to hear what you think.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: Fireworks

**Author**: Emmylou

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all its characters and concepts, are the creation of JK Rowling.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Angelina and Fred's relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

**A/N**: Again, thanks to all my wonderful reviewers!

ooo

In the middle of the gigantic ring was a large rope ladder leading up to a platform that was floating at the same level as their seats.

"I wouldn't like to be standing on that!" Angelina shouted over the crowd.

"You would!" laughed Donkor. "If you stand on that you have won a thousand Galleons!"

"That's the prize for winning?" whistled Fred. "_Nice_."

"Why's it called The Granddaughter?" asked Angelina.

Mrs. Donkor pointed to the platform as the flyers looped around it in gracefully. "Nobody knows the identity of 'The Grandfather'" she said. "He began the race six years ago. It was so popular the city had to take over to stop Muggles seeing. They made it an official sport, and in exchange they take most of the revenue, except the prize of course. They make much money – but I suppose they need it to pay for all the Anti-Muggle protection."

"So the Granddaughter is a person too?"

"Oh yes," said Mrs. Donkor. "His Granddaughter sets the course – she races ahead of the flyers and tries to loose them. The winner is the person who catches her. The broom she flies is a Portkey – she and the winner appear on the stage as soon as somebody touches her."

"So she's like a great big snitch?" asked Fred.

"Ha! No snitch flies like her!" said Donkor. "People think she must just be a little girl – she was tiny when the race began. She must be teenage still."

"Can anyone play then?" demanded Fred.

"Yes, it's five Galleons to enter the ring. You need a broom."

"So regular people play then?" saidd Angelina.

Donkor laughed. "All the time – they don't win often though. Maybe once in six months. It's the well known stars who win – the Quidditch players and professional flyers. My money is on Killistine to win tonight, he's been close for three weeks now."

The noise was louder than ever, people around them were shouting at the top of their lungs.

"Why do people play then?" she bellowed.

"It's like a marathon – normal people don't win, but you can at least say you took part!" said one of the brothers.

The crowd was gearing up; clearly the beginning wasn't far away. Angelina looked down to the ground where last minute entries were queuing to get a number.

Before she knew what she was doing she was rooting in her bag for her purse and her broom.

"Thank Merlin I remembered to bring it!" she grinned. She leaned over and kissed Fred's cheek. "Wish me luck!"

She wriggled out of her seat as Fred and the Donkor family all began talking at once.

"You can't be thinking of entering! You've never evenseen the show before!"

"I already haveten Galleons on Killistine!" moaned one of the brothers.

"What about your knee?" demanded Fred. "And your ban?"

Angelina shouted back triumphantly, backing away from them. "It's only in effect in England - and if I'm going to be banned, I'm going out in style!" She pushed her way out of the box and into the stairway.

As she left sight of the box she heard Fred's determined chant of "_An_-gel! _An_-gel! _An_-gel!" and grinned.

ooo

She was one of the last to get in; a bored looking wizard dumped her money into a bucket and slapped a number on her back. He noted down her name without any enthusiasm, and gestured for her to take flight.

Angelina leapt aboard her faithful 57 Levy and pushed off the ground. It was wonderful, the air was cool, she put aside any thoughts of what would happen next, she joined pushed forward to join the tail of the swarm and swooped with them. She took in every view of the crowd from every angle, took dips and rolls harder than necessary. This might be her last flight, and it was going to be _marvellous_.

A huge klaxon noise sounded and the huge swarm suddenly separated. Angelina was jolted back to earth for a moments as she realised she didn't know what to do. The air was thick with fliers, but she saw a pattern emerging. They were creating a circle around the platform. She flew into a nearby space as they all hung, watching, as a man made slow progress up the rope ladder.

He finally reached the top and stood in the centre of the small circle, turning around to survey the fliers and the crowd.

He tapped his throat with his wand, clearly performing a Sonorous spell, and his voice boomed out to much cheering from both the crown and the participants. He was portly and his hair was grey. He wore robes that fitted him like a badly made suit, and his face was totally hidden by a mask of a cheeky face old man. He could have been anyone, but he was clearly The Grandfather.

She couldn't understand a word of what he was saying, but the sound of his voice made it clear he was introducing someone.

It seemed every eye in the stadium looked down. A slip of a girl bounded into the ring and began climbing the rope speedily as the crowd roared her name. She didn't know what they were saying exactly but she would bet money that it was "_Granddaughter_".

The girl climbed through the hatch, and Angelina got her first good look at her. She wasn't as small as she seemed, and her features were certainly womanly now. Her clothes were gold as though she really were a giant Snitch. She wore gold trousers and a gold bra covered in a hazy shimmering top. Her face was concealed by a gold mask, which covered her eyes, and her hair was wrapped in a shimmering scarf. She looked more like a trapeze-artist than a professional flyer.

She picked up an old fashioned broom from where it had gently been floating on the platform, and she waved to the crowd. There was cheering and wolf-whistling and shreiks.

The Grandfather began speaking again as the girl climbed astride her broom and looked up as though checking the sky.

Once again she didn't know what the man was saying, but all at once it must have been "Go!"

The girl shot upwards like a cork out of a bottle and with her so did every other flyer, after her like she were the fox at the hunt.

Angelina's first thought was a swearword, but the words_ amazing flyer_ followed soon after, the girl was speeding into the night, still uncaught, and Angelina kicked her broom into gear before she was left behind.

The crowd stretched out below her as she accelerated. People were swerving and moving all around her and she had lost total sight of The Granddaughter. She could only hope that the people in front of her could see.

They were high now. If this girl was going to make things difficult she was going to drop soon – once they were at street level it would be impossible for the entire group to go after her at once. That would separate them from the fliers who would win and those who were doing it just because they'd got a new broom and a chance was a chance.

She pushed down hard and fought through the crowd to get low, zooming towards the ground so she could look up, and she was rewarded with a glimpse of gold at the very front. The Grandfather, who seemed to be commentating, must have noticed her strange actions, because the crowd seemed to be pointing and calling to her. She flew almost leisurely, keeping the glimpse of gold in sight but not wasting energy on chasing until The Granddaughter made a move.

She was no seeker, but she was a decent flier. And chasers had to be quick or they lost points. She remembered words from training sessions with Harry – don't think about where it's likely to be – keep an eye out for it and react as soon as you see it.

There! The girl dropped. The fliers at the front could do no more that make a slow swoop after her, but Angelina wasn't caught up in the bulk. She pushed her broom as hard as she'd ever flown it, diving into some dirty alley and served along through broken down stalls.

Children, their faces pressed against the window, cheered and waved as she passed houses and flats. Angelina waved back, feeling momentarily elated by the attention.

"- Johnson!"

The echoing sound of her name brought her mind back onto the task. The Grandfather must have got hold of her name and for a second she could almost imagine the crowd chanting her name…

Suddenly the road she was on became dark, they were in the shady streets, so tightly packed and out of the way that the lamps were not lit and Angelina cursed as the girl ahead took a sharp turn to the left and promptly disappeared.

She turned the way the girl had gone – but she was greeted only with empty street. What kind of broom was it that could pass through an entire street in less than a second?

Flyers had spread out in the sky above Angelina– all searching for that telltale hint of gold. Several had seen Angelina's close brush and headed in the same direction, but down in the shadowy alley they couldn't see her.

Where would the girl have gone? She would not have wanted to be caught so early in the game – first rule of professional Quidditch that was – never catch the Snitch too early, give the punters their money's worth. This girl was probably teasing it out until she could draw a player back into the stadium for a heart-pounding final chase.

If she had managed to fly the full length of the alleyway Angelina would have almost certainly seen her broom-tails as she swerved into the maze of streets ahead. But there was something, well, magical about this girl. Your mind told you she was just a decent flyer in a silly outfit, but it suddenly seemed possible that she could do _anything_. She seemed smaller and impish; Lolita in flight. The mask made her into a mythical creature; made her something that everyone seemed to worship. Even the most famous Quidditch star could only snap at this girl's heels.

"She's just a girl", Angelina whispered to herself. "As human as me. What would_ I_ do?"

Angelina scrutinised the alley, along one side were a ramshackle row of broken down market stalls, the other was packed with doorways of pressed together houses. Above Angelina were rows of washing, hanging on shared lines.

Was it that simple?

She drifted upwards, slipping in between washing lines, using the sheets as cover. She was hidden and had a perfect view of the stalls that she was now convinced The Granddaughter was hiding behind.

It took only moments for The Granddaughter to think Angelina had left and slip out from where she was crouched. She carried her broom in one hand and as she tiptoed along the cobbles Angelina caught a glimpse of her gold mask as she peered up as the flyers overhead. Angelina was unseen in the shadows of the washing. All she had to do was swoop down and snatch the girl's wrist and she would appear, victorious, on that wooden platform.

_An-gel! An-gel! An-gel!_

A hand clapped against her mouth. It was hot and reeked of cigarettes. A bear-like man had been behind the sheet she was closest too. His own legs were tightly wrapped around his broom to keep him steady, and his right arm enveloped her in threatening one armed hug. His arm pressed hers to her sides and his left hand pressed against her mouth. She was pinned against him, unable to wriggle free.

_Killistine?_

"You will not win," he hissed against her ear. His breath smelled of cigarettes too.

Of course not, she thought. Even here, she could never been judged on her flying ability alone. She wasn't a star like he was, she wasn't _meant _to win.

If there was a god of flyers, she cursed him now.

Regulations and councils! Even in a game that streaked along the streets of Cairo there had to be rules and precedents. A nobody girl was not supposed to win. The crowd wanted Killistine; they'd bought flags with his face on. Only the stars won because they were what people _wanted_.

Killistine be damned! She had tracked down The Granddaughter. She had had her in her sights. She was going to win because _this was her only chance_.

He hand was big his salty flesh was pressed hard to her mouth. She bit down, _hard_.

Angelina had two brothers and a sister; she knew the difference between a playful bite and one that would need a trip to St. Mungo's. If she'd bit any harder she'd of had to spit his flesh out.

Killistine roared. He snatched his hand back and practically pushed her off her broom. Angelina slipped and had to drop down quickly to get out of his way and to scramble back aboard.

She had practically heard The Granddaughter's gasp as she realised how close the players were. Angelina had to follow her now otherwise she'd loose her completely.

The girl streaked out of the street. Angelina pushed forward out into the bright streets again. She didn't need to see The Granddaughter to know where she had gone – people leaned out of widows to wave and cheer after her. Angelina followed the sea of arms and tear-streaked faces.

Angelina could see her target ahead of her, so far away that she really did seem the size of a Snitch.

Killistine, bellowing insults, was close behind her.

The girl sensed the end was near; she was leading the way back to the stadium for an impressive end where everyone could see – it was just a matter of who got there first.

She wasn't the only flyer heading back to the stadium. As she ducked and weaved through narrow and short streets she saw others beating their way back in the same direction. It might just come down to a race to see whose broom was faster…

Forget the streets, she decided. It was like being trapped in a maze and slowing her down as she had to react to every breakneck turn. She urged her broom up. The crowd 'ah'ed after her. She arched over the houses and dove forward to the centre of the stadium.

There was a clatter as another broom forced its handle against hers. Killistine was next to her, driving her to the side as they hurtled downwards.

If she fell now…the crowd would go wild. They wanted entertainment and blood would only make it more exciting – at least until the adrenalin wore off. It was as bloodthirsty as any Roman game.

The ground was rising up. If she fell now…

She crashed her handle back into Killistine's. Her broom was better and the distraction let her move forward enough to see The Granddaughter. She was inches away…is this what it felt like to be a seeker?

Her broom cracked, Angelina felt herself being tossed from it. The ground was coming up faster and harder than before. Killistine had smashed his broom into her tail, changing the course out from underneath her.

She only had once chance. Win or die.

She leapt.

The broom fell away. For one brief second she was hurtling downwards.

There were two grunts of pain as she grabbed the only solid thing left. The Granddaughter.

The jerk of the Portkey was almost comforting. Then she landed on the platform. It was so much _better_ than being back on solid ground.

ooo

Sorry for making you wait for this chapter – it gave me a little trouble. I'd really love to know what you think.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title**: Fireworks

**Author**: Emmylou

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all its characters and concepts, are the creation of JK Rowling.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Angelina and Fred's relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

**A/N**: Thanks to all my loyal reviewers and to those that have joined us recently.

ooo

It had been very hard to get away from the crowds. No one knew who she was and that made her interesting. A mystery girl had beaten a seasoned player and everyone wanted to be a part of it.

Fred had beaten his way through the crowd almost as soon as she had reached the ground. In her arms was a large bag of gold and her broomstick that The Grandfather had ordered to be returned to her.

"You did it!" bellowed Fred over the noise. "Angel – you did it!"

He threw an arm around her shoulders and grinned as people snapped photographs of her overwhelmed face.

"You'll be in the papers tomorrow!" he shouted again. "That'll be one to cut out and keep!"

"I'll send a copy to Robin bloody Sparrow at the Quidditch Council too!" she yelled back.

She was finally steered back to the Donkor family where Mr. and Mrs. Donkor looked delighted. The brother with ten Galleons on Killistine looked rather sulky.

Angelina was thoroughly hugged by Mrs. Donkor, who seemed to have forgotten that Angelina couldn't speak her language and was babbling into her shoulder. Donkor clapped her on the back, and the two brothers (one rather stiffly) offered deep congratulations.

Angelina turned to peer back at the platform high above them. The Grandfather and Granddaughter were gone.

ooo

News of her win seemed to buzz ahead of them as they walked back to the Donkor home. People cheered over balconies at her, and waved flags that they seemed to have forgotten didn't have her face on it.

She still had her money in her arms, a _thousand _Galleons. That sort of money could set someone up for life. If what Fred told her about Harry Potter was true it _had _set him and his brother up for life.

Donkor and his brothers seemed to have drunk a good deal more than they ought on the way home. By the time they reached the house and Donkor started fumbling with the lock they were joyously singing a song that wasn't English and certainly didn't seem polite. Mrs. Donkor seemed to have had a few because she was laughing hard and scoffing the last of her stuffed dates.

"What are they singing?" asked Fred. His arm was still round Angelina's shoulders and was wonderful in the cool night air.

Mrs. Donkor let out a peal of giggles. "It's about Wizards' staffs!"

Donkor pushed the door open and the group piled in. Angelina almost tripped over and was hastily caught by Fred. There was a moment of fumbling and the lamps blared.

Pictures and mirrors hung crooked on the walls, a bookcase had been overturned and Angelina looked down to see she has tripped over one of the discarded books. The carpets had been ripped up.

"Pili!" bellowed Donkor, who suddenly sounded terrified.

Angelina could see his relief when he heard the clattering of footsteps and Pili stumbled into the room, smoothing down her robes.

"Yes father?" she began, and then got a good look around the room. "Wh-what happened?"

The relief on her father's face was gone, now Donkor looked upon his daughter with fury.

"Where were you?" he roared. "You were not to leave the house! You are never to leave the house when no one else is here!"

"I was-" she stammered. "I was-"

"They were clearly thieves employed to get the plans of our latest work. Spies are all around us!" continued Donkor. "You alone have destroyed Weezley's trust in us before we even begin to trade!"

"I'm sorry!" wailed Pili.

Fred looked at the poor girl uncomfortably. "Er, don't cry, there's still trust…"

"Where _were _you?" Donkor bellowed again.

A young man stepped out of the doorway behind Pili and took her shoulder. She jumped in shock. The man was tall and gangly, his tea-towel hat askew.

"She was with me," said Konzo.

"It would be best if you and your lady go upstairs now, Mr. Weezley," said Donkor. His voice was carefully controlled and he was swaying with anger and mostly with alcohol.

Fred and Angelina, recognising a domestic disturbance in the making, legged it.

ooo

"They only went off on one date," said Angelina. She and Fred squeezed along the corridor to their room. "It's not very fair for them."

"Well, if we've lost the plans for the firework, it'll set us back even further," said Fred. He bent and picked up a large fern plant the thieves had knocked over.

"But still, she wasn't to know that there would be a robbery," said Angelina. "And it's not like she seems to get much time for boys."

Fred shrugged. "We-ell, if she wants to snog a blind firework maker, that's her business, seems a bit risky to me. I just hope she hasn't lost us our work."

Angelina opened the door gingerly. Draws were strewn across the room, clothes and laundry had been dragged from their trunks and Angelina's make-up had been swept off the dresser. The little coloured bottles of perfume had smashed on the ground and the sickly smell of mixed perfume rose up from the carpet.

"No rescuing those," she said sadly. "I might have been able to use a spell if it was just one, but all the perfumes mixed now."

Fred rooted through the clothes until he found his pyjama top half way under the bed.

"Ah-ha! They didn't find my plans!" he shouted triumphantly. He reached into the pocket and pulled out a wad of parchment.

"You keep them in the pocket?" she asked bemusedly. "What happens when they get washed?"

Fred looked at her blankly and she remembered that laundry was something that happened to other people in Fred's world.

He waited for that to sink in and grinned. "Had you going there, I put a waterproofing spell on them."

Angelina snorted and reached for one of the drawers. She dumped her bag of money into it and slid it back into the dresser. Fred had pulled on his pyjama top and was peering out the window.

"They're not chanting your name anymore," he said sadly. "They're chanting the Granddaughter's. _You_ won."

Angelina smiled softly and pulled on her own nightie. "Anyone can win a flying tournament. She _makes_ it. It must be like being the goddess of flying."

"I weren't half scared when he knocked you off your broom," said Fred suddenly.

Angelina looked up from where she was making a half-hearted attempt to tidy the room.

"I know, even I thought that I'd wasted my money with a long term investment plan at Gringotts for a moment."

He chuffed with laughter for a moment and the tension seemed to leak away.

"And I won," she continued. "It's not as good as having my name cleared, but it's something."

Fred glanced towards the drawer. "It's one thousand somethings," he said. "What are you going to do with it?"

Angelina slid under the sheets and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I dunno, it's a lot of money."

"I did mention I love you, right?" asked Fred. Angelina giggled and whacked his arm as he climbed in next to her.

"I suppose you could open another shop with it – the Weasley family (at least, the twin part of it) could begin it's plans to take over the magical world. You'd make loads if you opened up in America."

Fred wrinkled his nose. "That's so sensible!"

Angelina looked at him hardly. "Fred Weasley turning down business?"

"Yes!" he said. Then paused. "Unless by 'business' you mean 'sex'. We're going to open more shops anyway. You _won _this money and if you don't blow it on something daft like ten thousand Chocolate Frogs, then you don't deserve to _have_ it."

Angelina reached over and kissed him thoroughly. "That's my Fred. I thought I'd lost you for a while back there."

"Once again, I make it very clear, I'm not turning down _that_ kind of business," he said breathlessly.

She whacked his arm again and they sunk back into their pillows.

"We could go on holiday," she suggested.

"With a thousand Galleons?" snorted Fred. "It would have to be one hell of a trip to spend all that. Besides, haven't you resolved to start work in two weeks?"

Angelina bit her lip. It was difficult imagining that soon she'd be back in England with her whole boring, broomstick-less life ahead of her.

"We could buy a house?" she suggested weakly. "A house abroad. That way it's always there when we do want it."

"Yeah…" said Fred. "They sell holiday homes that disappear in one country and re-appear in another, so you're not tied down to one country. A holiday pad. _Fantastic!_"

"Home. A holiday home," she yawned. "One pad is more than enough."

Fred kissed her and she was in no rush to let him stop.

ooo

Despite the rift healed between Fred and Angelina the table was practically icing over when they came to breakfast that morning.

"I'm sure Konzo will be pleased to know that none of our plans have been disturbed," said Donkor to the table at large but in that special tone that made it clear he was talking entirely to Pili.

Pili stared miserably into her porridge from her seat in between her uncles as sharp comments were made around her.

Angelina tried to offer her a sympathetic smile, but the girl stared resolutely into the oats.

"Fortunately my _elderly _father was not disturbed in the robbery," said Donkor, with another snide glance at Pili.

He turned to Fred with the least nasty look he seemed able to muster.

"I have told my father of the many great things you and your brother do for our business," said Donkor. "He has offered for you to join him for lunch in his room. He is eager to meet the foreign girl who won The Granddaughter too." Donkor bowed his head respectfully to Angelina.

Out of the corner of her eye, Angelina saw Pili look up and smile at her, before tilting her head back down to her meal.

Fred seemed genuinely honoured.

"We'll be there with bells on," he said, which was about as respectful as Fred got.

ooo

Anyone who's read a Discworld book will probably recognise the song Donkor and his brothers were singing. For propriety I will not share the title here, but if you do know the title…well…you get the know-it-all of the year award.

More will be coming soon, I promise. In the mean time, I'd love to know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Title**: Fireworks

**Author**: Emmylou

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all its characters and concepts, are the creation of JK Rowling.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Angelina and Fred's relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

ooo

Fred had bounced around eagerly all morning, clearly waiting for lunchtime to begin. When Mrs. Donkor and Pili appeared with large trays he was only steps behind them as they climbed up to the highest staircases. Eventually, when they reached the highest point and the stairs stopped, Mrs. Donkor tapped the floor with the heel of her shoe twice and a long thin ladder dropped out of a hatchway above them.

The trays floated up first, then Mrs. Donkor and Pili climbed next, Fred seconds behind them. Donkor prodded her forwards.

Angelina had never liked ladders, but she climbed up as daintily as she could manage.

The room she reached must have been the largest in the house, and even then you could have squeezed it into Fred and Angelina's bedroom at home twice. A large four poster bed took up much of the room and crammed against the bottom of the bed was a dining table with four chairs. To the right of the bed was a dark wooded bureau, carefully locked up.

Mrs. Donkor set down her tray and waddled over to the curtains, which she ripped open to illuminate the dusky room. Pili laid out glasses, plates of food, jugs of water, and a bottle of wine.

"My father finds that English food disagrees with him," said Donkor apologetically. "However, if you do not like the food my wife will be glad to bring you something better."

Mrs. Donkor nodded fretfully, before taking Pili and leading her away.

Donkor strode over to his father and spoke in the loud cheery voice people use when they are unfamiliar with talking to the elderly. "Father! How are we today? I have brought Weezly to see you at last! We are all going to dine together!"

The man in the bed probably looked older than he was. His body was portly, but nowhere near as fat as his son and although his hands trembled his arms hid muscles. His hair was white, but his face was less wrinkled than Angelina would have expected. He held an expression of a sulky child forced to go to bed early.

"What of the robbery?" he wheezed, in a voice so weak it surely could not be real.

Donkor clapped his hands together. "None of my papers were taken and Weezley assures me that his method of protecting his work kept his safe. I think we scared them away when we returned!"

The man made no acknowledgement of his son's words, but climbed out of bed, slapping his son's helpful hands away. "We dine now," he said.

He made several shaking steps towards his chair and seems to practically fall into it. But Angelina noted that he spooned spiced lamb onto his plate with un-trembling, confident moves.

Donkor moved over to Fred and clapped him on the back. "This is Fred Weezley, he and his brother will revolutionise our business!"

"It's an honour, sir!" said Fred. He reached across the table to wring the man's hand and was treated to a stony glare.

"This is my girlfriend, Angelina Johnson," he said hastily, pulling his hand away

Mr. Donkor nodded to her. The group sat in silence to dine on lamb cuts and Pita bread, gulping down wine or water depending on how nervous they were.

Donkor was already red in the face from his drinks and frequently tried to start conversation, only to have his father's surly silence make his words fade in his mouth.

When everyone seemed to have finished, Angelina started to relax now she saw that the business talk could begin and the uncomfortable silence would stop, but it turned out that Donkor's father refused to see a left-over uneaten. He tipped the rest of the bread and the meat onto his plate, scraping the scraps from the other's plates, and tipped the dregs of water and wine into his own glasses. The group watched, both fascinated and bored as the man steadfastly and achingly slowly ate the remains.

Finally no food remained and Mr. Donkor pushed his plate away. He turned and looked around the table as if to gather his thoughts, then began to speak in his raspy voice.

"The robbery has made me rethink my business plans," said the elder man.

"Absolutely!" said Donkor. He slammed his fist down onto the table. "We must improve security!"

Mr. Donkor turned his head to his son. "You are an idiot," he said.

Donkor sat shocked for a moment and then immediately began babbling. "Yes, yes, of course, but why? Am I really? Have I done something to displease you?"

"Zonko steals a few petty fireworks and you sack people. You stop business. I am no fool. You climb up here and you tell me pretty lies about how many fireworks you've made and how much money we bring in when you produce maybe five boxes a day and are reduced to selling them in markets. Zonko is long out of business – the Weezley brothers have made him so. And even then you blame everyone but yourself. Spies everywhere. Cannot risk taking on new staff. Cannot _afford_, more like. I look at our books and find that we are in debt. Stupid decisions and pointless lies. You alone have driven this company to the ground."

Donkor thrust a fat finger towards Fred, "Weezley is financing-"

"You ask a stranger for money?" barked his father. "In exchange for what? A name? You have deceived him if you think that we can improve his business in any way. Once Weezley knows the true cost I have no doubt he shall return home immediately."

"I said we would finance the basics – initial wages for staff, the stuff we need to make the fireworks, that sort of thing," said Fred hastily.

"And what about the five hundred Galleons my son owes to various debtors?" spat Mr. Donkor. "Did you agree to pay those too?"

Angelina and Fred turned to look at Donkor in horror. The man himself looked near tears.

"We needed money, but every time a product neared completion there were setbacks! Problems! Small loans were nothing when we could be making money in weeks."

"And when you finally ran out of options you called in the new boys on the block?" said Fred.

"A-a partnership, of sorts," said Donkor imploringly. "You put Zonko out of business – you and your brother were – are the men to save us!"

He reached out and wrung Fred's hand in the way Fred had reached for his father's.

"How much would it take?" asked Fred to Mr. Donkor.

The old man glared at his son. "The company could not be saved with less than a thousand galleons."

Fred looked thoughtful. "The Donkor name is famous all over the magical world…at one time it was illegal for any firework to enter Brazil unless it was made by Donkor. Zonko wiped you out of England but even eight years ago you still had business in France and Russia. I know. I went through the trunks in the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang quarters that year at school. Your name is probably worth more than your company…" Angelina saw the fires of business burning in Fred's eyes again. "Retro products…we could re-release all your classics…"

"This is foolish," the old man thumped the table. "Money, Weezley, any plans need money. We shall have to sell the factory to pay off our debtors alone. I recommend you return home and I shall have to think of a way to reimburse you for your visit."

"Weezley, it is a beautiful dream!" said Donkor, who was grasping at this last chance with greedy eyes. "Do you have the money to make it happen?"

Fred looked at Donkor like he was stupid. "Don't be daft. All our yearly profits have been sunk back into the business. We budgeted two hundred galleons for this trip. We won't have any more to play with until next July."

"Two hundred galleons! That is all!" wailed Donkor.

"Unless Weezley carries a Niffler about his person, we are sunk," said Donkor.

The group sat hunched up at the table. Angelina was sorry for the family. Bad luck had damaged their business and then incompetence had ruined it. Maybe there were spies sabotaging any new plans, but it all seemed a hopeless business.

"That's it!" shouted Fred suddenly. He scrambled to his feet and for some reason, kissed Angelina on the head, before diving out of the room. They heard the plinking of the ladder and Fred practically fell down it and his footsteps thump back down the stairs.

Angelina blushed hotly when she realised Mr. Donkor and his son were looking at her as if you demand an explanation.

"He's a very typical type of genius," she suggested weakly. "Bit tapped, you know how it is."

The two men nodded in understanding and they waited until the footsteps were heard racing back.

"Here!" shouted Fred before he was even fully in the room. He darted forward to the table (which considering how close it was to the door almost meant he crashed into it) "One thousand galleons!"

The two men's eyes lit up with instant greed, leaving Fred bouncing on his heels buoyantly. "I officially buy your business!" he said triumphantly. "A permanent merging of Weasley and Donkor!"

Angelina gasped as he dumped _her_ clinking bag of gold onto the table.

ooo

Yes. Fred's a prat.

We shall have to see how it plays out won't we? grin makes standard hint for reviews


	9. Chapter 9

**Title**: Fireworks

**Author**: Emmylou

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all its characters and concepts, are the creation of JK Rowling.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Angelina and Fred's relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

**A/N**: I expect you want to know where I've been with the updates…well…long story short I was left alone this weekend and I took a chance to do some cleaning, go shopping, etc, etc. So while I've been out having a life, I've not typed up the chapter. Sorry. However, you will be pleased to know that I've finished my handwritten first draft, so now I've just got to type it up. Thanks to all my reviewers, as always.

ooo

To say Angelina had never been mad with Fred before was a cruel understatement. He had casually rifled through her handbags in search of hand-mirrors, money, keys, and all the other things men think is worth risking their life to look for in a female's bag. He'd stolen her perfume for experiments. He'd even forgotten her birthday. _And their anniversary_. He'd made raunchy jokes about twins when he first met her parents and still called her father by the irritating nickname of _Pops_.

But he'd never stolen from her. At least, not without intending to give whatever it was back. He'd, he'd- she struggled to think for a phrase suitable- he'd _sold out_.

She had given up on the meeting the second Donkor's hands had stroked her precious gold. She'd marched right out of the room and back to her bedroom.

How many hours had she spent in this room since this trip began? Hours, certainly. How could she not have seen that the relationship was sliding out from under her? Fred was married to his business now.

"Even if we had got that stupid holiday home – would we have used it?" she spat to herself. "Nooo…it would have been, _I'm busy next week Angel…_or_…Saturday's the busiest day of the week for me – I can't afford to take a trip to Venice!_"

She huffed and sunk moodily onto the bed. She felt suddenly reckless. Angelina remembered the days on the Tornado's pitch where she'd been wet and cold and shouted at…it had seemed so easy to stomp off the pitch and tell them where to _stick _their sixteen Galleons. Of course she hadn't, she knew the consequences. And what had sticking with them got her? A ban from flying.

What would sticking with Fred get her? A nice house or pad? A holiday home that they'd never use? Kids that never saw their father?

She heard animated voices above her; Fred would no doubt be discussing business for a while.

She stood up sharply and stalked out into the corridor, calling out for Pili. The girl skidded to a halt in front of her a minute later after racing up the stairs. Angelina bit back guilt for treating Pili like a maid by remembering that in a while Pili would be living like a queen because of the money Angelina had won.

"Can you run down to the British Consulate and find out when the next Portkey to England is?" she said. She rooted in her pockets for the last of her money. "Buy me a ticket when you find out."

Pili took the small bag of coins and nervously darted off.

Portkey's out here surely weren't that infrequent. She could be home in a few hours, leaving Fred and his business to be very happy together.

She stuffed her things into bags and trunks and then sat down to wait impatiently for Pili's return.

Unfortunately, though, Pili did not bring good news.

"No Portkey's for a week!" Angelina all but wailed in response.

"They said there was a problem with instabilities. One person ended up in the Channel Tunnel!" said Pili, who looked rather nervous at Angelina's dangerous expression.

"I don't care if I land up to my neck in _mud_! I just want to be as far away from here as possible."

Pili had eventually fled and Angelina was left to stomp, huff, and stalk moodily around her room. She ran over what she was going to say when Fred finally appeared. The versions in her head swerved from noble sad acceptance to banshee like wailing. Occasionally she had a pleasant image of one of her boots hitting Fred in the forehead.

Ooo

When Fred did appear, it was with an almost cringe worthy obliviousness. He sauntered into the room, hands thrust in his pockets, and invited her out for a night on the town "to celebrate".

Angelina chucked a hairbrush at him. Fred dived out of the line of fire, voice already set to male panic tone number one: _I don't know what I've done but I'm sorry anyway! _

"Angel! My love! What was that for- OW! That hit me! Look…it's about the money isn't it? The money's not important…in a few months we'll have it bac- OW!"

Angelina had never been one to hold back in a real temper. She snatched his robes and pulled him close to her, holding his face mere millimetres away from hers. When she spoke her voice was dangerously low.

"You are a lying, nasty waste-of-space you can't see past your own nose. All you do is make me miserable, lonely, and fed up. You've stopped being a boyfriend and become a _businessman_. I can't go home for a week and you are buggered if you think you're sleeping on that bed. You can take a pillow and pick a comfy bit of floor."

She let go of Fred as though he were a small wriggling rodent. A sensible man would have stalked away until he could talk reasonably.

Fred had even less sense than George, and that was saying something.

"But you said we could put the money towards the business!" he blustered.

Angelina made to snatch his robes again, but he dived away. Instead she stood, crouched with anger, bellowing at the top of her lungs. "AND YOU CALLED _ME_ BORING, YOU LITTLE TOAD!"

Fred fled but she kept on screaming.

"I'LL NEVER, _EVER_ FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS FRED WEASLEY!"

ooo

If it wasn't for the fact that Weezley had just given them a thousand Galleons, the Donkors determination to be gracious guests would have faltered during the next week.

Fred rose early every morning and came downstairs looking rumpled and sore. He refused Mrs. Donkor's insistence on giving him a new room every time she made it and although he seemed to have promised himself not to discuss Angelina with anyone, any time she was mentioned he would pause listening intently. He worked tirelessly on their firework until even an enthusiastic Donkor dozed off next to him.

Angelina meanwhile remained mostly in her room, picking at the food that was sent up to her and from the sound of footsteps she was pacing the floor often.

Mrs. Donkor came up to try and talk with her twice a day but was met with stony silence and a cook glare. The meetings always ended with Angelina thanking the woman for her hospitality and pointing out that she would be on the next Portkey home.

Even when Donkor Flooed George for advice, the answer he got was less than useless: "Can't see why Angelina's overreacting. It's not like she'll never see the money again. I s'pose it's a girl thing."

Privately Angelina had resolved not to look at Fred, nor to mention his name. When he shuffled into the room and lay down on the floor to sleep she screwed her eyes shut and when he got up in the morning she buried her face in the pillow so he could not see her.

There was a brief interlude for a while when Konzo announced that he was to go back home for a while as his mother was sick and he joined the family for a farewell meal. Pili was forced to sit next to him, clearly mortified, as her family (who seemed to have forgotten Konzo's role in the break-in) made jokes of marriage.

Konzo was waved off (with a bottle of tonic for his ailing mother) that night and Donkor mourned the fact that they had lost another good worker to an unresponsive Fred.

When Angelina finally reached Saturday and she was within one night of going home, she still felt no more cheerful. However she could not ignore Mrs. Donkor's plea to join them for a final meal – even if Fred would be there. Graciousness dictated her attendance, but anger still coursed through her as she took a stiff seat at the table.

Fred kept his haggard face staring into his roast potatoes, while every other eye was carefully watching what she was doing. She snatched up the English newspaper that had been thoughtfully provided and hitched it up to hide her face.

She stared unseeingly at the pages and tried to drown out Donkor's timid questions about the Farting Firework. In no mood to listen to discussion of Fred's idiotic product, she roughly flicked the pages.

The page she was now peering at could not be ignored. It was flashing lime green and yellow and she had to pull her face away from the pages.

The picture she began to see amongst the flashing colours was that of a firework.

"I didn't know you'd started advertising already," she grunted.

"Ha! Excellent Weezley, building up the suspense so that people will be queuing in the streets when we start to sell!" Donkor clapped Fred on the back, but Fred looked merely bewildered.

"I haven't started advertising yet!" There was a note of almost panic in his voice. He snatched the newspaper from Angelina and spread it out in front of them.

"Oh no.." he groaned. "Oh no…"

The whole table peered down at the pages where a large advert for The Farting Firework was displayed;

SILENT BUT DEADLY?

NO MORE GASSY SECRETS!

THE FARTING FIREWORK.

SHAME THEM AT ZONKO'S!

ooo

Oooh…I'm evil aren't I?


	10. Chapter 10

**Title**: Fireworks

**Author**: Emmylou

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all its characters and concepts, are the creation of JK Rowling.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Angelina and Fred's relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

ooo

The group had gathered in Mr. Donkor's room, where Fred stood dejectedly at the foot of the bed.

"They cannot have produced the firework already," said Donkor. "We have been working on it less than a week…_we_ only finalised the design yesterday."

"They haven't made it yet," said Fred with a sort of groan in his voice. "They're putting dibs on it first. They'll use the pre-order money to make the actual things and if we make it first we'll still look like we're copying them. They've won."

Fred slumped onto the bed, his head in his hands.

"Our money is gone. We are paying staff for time we can't use. All the products we've bought cannot make any other type of firework."

Angelina didn't like kicking a man when he was down, but she was still boiling with anger. "We could have bought a home in St. Tropez and been better off," she muttered loudly.

Fred seemed to slump even further. Donkor ignored her. "The burglary must have been to steal the plans," he said. "Damn Pili and as for that Konzo boy…"

His father sighed. "Are there none of my plans we can use?"

"None. They all need different ingredients," sighed Fred.

"What do you intend to do?" asked Mr. Donkor.

Fred shrugged. "There's not enough money to start making something new. All your plans are at experimental stages anyway. My only option is to head back to England and start building the business with George. We're no competition at all here. George and I put 'em out of business before – we can do it again."

Donkor slumped down next to him. "We've wasted your time _and_ your money!" he almost wailed.

The room was silent. As mad as Angelina had been – still was – she'd never really thought Fred would fail. They only thing Fred and George failed at were exams.

"We'll be on the next Portkey home," said Fred in a toneless sort of voice.

And then what? thought Angelina. Having to break up? Her spending the rest of her life spending size five pewters? She suddenly wanted to hug Fred, but she had to remember her principals. She kept her expression to one of stony calm.

The elder Donkor shifted in the bed. He was regarding Fred's form carefully, as though wondering whether to share a secret.

"I've heard a lot about you and your brother Weezley," he rasped. "Good men. Good products. Clever. You left school by pelting a teacher with Dungbombs."

"Actually we didn-" began Fred, but Donkor was climbing out of bed and shuffling to the dresser.

"I say that if the Weezley twins cannot help us, then we are beyond help."

He paused for breath by leaning on the top for support before fumbling to open the drawer.

"I shall make plans to sell the factory at once," said Donkor, his face bleak.

The elder Donkor reached into the drawer.

"In fact," he said, ignoring his son, "we are so helpless that even a ready made firework with perfected plans could not help us now."

He lifted a small package out of the drawer and held it up. He was smiling. The paper fell away to reveal a large firework with two long wire hooks attached to the top and bottom.

"You attach it to your broom with the hooks," croaked Donkor. "When you fly it leaves a trail of colours behind you."

His son pounced upon the object in a second. "You hid this?" demanded Donkor half furious, half ecstatic.

His father shrugged. "I had other plans for it, but I think men like Weezley could do far more with it."

Fred's whole face had changed. Slight mania swept away lingering disappointment and his expression now said quite plainly that there was a way and he was going to find it. Angry or not, Angelina was pleased for him. He didn't suit depression.

The Fred in front of her didn't look at a firework and think; _Money!_, he looked at it and thought; _What sort of noise does it make and how can I make it louder?_

"We'll still need money to make it," he said warningly.

Donkor slid back into bed. "I think a man like you is clever enough to work something out," he yawned.

ooo

Angelina had gone upstairs to scan her room for anything still unpacked. Fred had called George up on an emergency Floo.

Things had muddled through as they usually did for Fred and George. Angelina was both pleased that Fred was happy and angry that he had not got what he richly deserved.

When she eventually climbed into bed she lay in the very middle, meaning that Fred would be unable to squeeze in on either side. She had tossed a pillow and a sheet onto the ground for when he finally returned.

When the door did creak open and Fred shuffled in her eyes snapped open and she looked to the clock, surprised to find it only half nine. There were voices outside and she realised blearily that the crowds must be on their way to The Granddaughter.

Fred had frozen when she moved, but as she slumped back onto the pillow he set about rooting through the bags and trunks looking for merlin-knows-what. She shut her eyes firmly and took a moment to splay further out on the bed so that he would not dare try and get in.

"Angel?" he whispered. "Are you awake?"

She kept her mouth resolutely shut.

"I_ do_ love you," he said.

She buried her head further into the pillow and eventually heard him leave the room.

ooo

Once again, Angelina's pesky emotions were crying themselves out while she planned in her head. She mentally revised her plans for tomorrow, where she would be heading, what time the Portkey would leave, while she sobbed into the blankets.

Fred and George would be fine. They probably had some hidden well of money somewhere. Somewhere Fred must have conveniently forgotten about before. Fred would be fine without her.

Now she had to make even more plans. She had no home to return to – she didn't fancy spending any longer than necessary in Fred's "Pad". That would mean a few weeks in her parents spare room. She's also need to return home – to the Pad that is – to collect her things. She would have to do that first, because she had no desire to be there when Fred was. She'd pack up her stuff, clean out the larder, set a few cleaning spells going in the bathroom, and go.

Angelina had been lying like that for some time. The distant roar of the crowds soothed her and she had nearly cried herself out. She was just drifting towards sleep when there was a banging from the window.

On instinct she scrambled out of the twisted sheets and skidded over to the windows. Fred was banging on the glass to get her attention. He was floating high above the street on…she looked down…yes, on her broomstick.

She opened the window, reached out, and smacked him so hard the broom shuddered.

"Angel!"

"If you are planning on serenading me you better have some earplugs with you," she snarled, prodding him hard in the chest. However her finger met with rough paper instead of cloth. The number 481 was splayed proudly across his chest.

She was sure her look should freeze him to the broom, but Fred clearly had more guts that she'd realised, for he offered her a nervous but bordering on the bloody downright cheeky grin.

"Angel, if you were a crack flyer dressed up like a Belly Dancer, where would you be hiding right now?"

"You've gone and entered the bloody Granddaughter, haven't you?" she said.

ooo

So, I'd love to know what you thought. Reviews make me happy (not that I write for reviews alone).


	11. Chapter 11

**Title**: Fireworks

**Author**: Emmylou

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all its characters and concepts, are the creation of JK Rowling.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Angelina and Fred's relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

ooo

"Hop on then," he winked.

Angelina stared at him, totally dumfounded. Fred had stolen her money, stolen her broom, entered some stupid competition to win money for his business, and was expecting her to _help_?

"Bug-" she began.

"Now hear me out Angel!" said Fred hastily. "You know I haven't got a hope in hell of winning. I'm not used to delicate flying. I'm used to whacking balls with a stick. I'm asking for your help. I'll do _anything_." He waggled his eyebrows.

Angelina made to slam the window closed, but he grabbed it before she could.

"Fine," he said, panting with the effort of remaining on the broom and keeping the window open. "If you don't help me I'll snap your broom in half the second I get to the ground."

"I'll snap something_ else_ in half the second you do!" snarled Angelina.

"I'll still do it!" shouted Fred.

Angelina offered Fred her nastiest glare and climbed out of the window in an ungracious manner. She kicked Fred hard as she scrambled on behind him and didn't feel like bothering with an apology.

"Now where to Milady?" asked Fred cheerfully. The broom spurted forward and Angelina realised with horror that she was still in her nightdress.

"She'll have thrown the lead players off by now," shouted Angelina over the rushing wind. "She'll be hiding out."

"Just a few million places to look then," Fred called jovially.

They slowed to watch the city from above. Other players, looking vaguely surprised to see two people on one broom, zoomed past.

Angelina's full mind was on the task ahead of her. She didn't want Fred to get a single Knut, but the desire to win sung through her.

She peered around Fred's shoulders desperately. There was Killistine ahead of them, his robes very familiar, he didn't seem particularly rushed, but he was making low lazy circles. It was certainly impressing the onlookers, but he would only catch The Granddaughter if she flew into him by accident.

He'd won before hadn't he? _How_?

…could it really be that simple?

She reached around Fred's neck and grabbed the Omnioculars he was wearing.

"Put on a show!" she bellowed into his ear. "You win because she wants you to win. The best fliers…the ones that impress the crowd! They win! I won because the chase between me and Killistine was dramatic and because I was a better flier! This time we have to really impress the onlookers!"

She put the Omnioculars to her face and, clutching the broom tightly with her legs, slid sideways so she was hanging upside down.

"Fly around slowly!" she yelled.

Fred obliged by swinging the broom around lazily and going past the houses nearby. Angelina made a show of searching for The Granddaughter, looking around theatrically and pointing dramatically every now and then.

There were roars of laughter and clapping. She heard The Grandfather mention Fred's name once or twice.

It was winning over the crowd, but it was extremely uncomfortable. Her legs ached and the blood was rushing to her head. Hanging upside down over a large drop wasn't particularly fun, and to top it off her nightdress was slipping down her thighs, showing more and more leg.

Still, Killistine could beat the broomstick speed record and still not beat a show like Frangelina. Fred was getting into it too. He kept putting his hand to his forehead and scanning around dramatically, occasionally pointing to some shadow spot and zooming off in that direction.

Angelina was beginning to think that unless The Granddaughter appeared soon she was going to faint. Her legs were clammy and she was feeling increasingly dizzy. Flying upside down might be alright for a show at Blackpool, but it wasn't practically or particularly safe.

She felt the broomstick spurt forward, and she forced her aching legs to hang on.

"I can see her!" shouted Fred. He reached down and grabbed her arm, yanking her upwards and she gratefully wrapped her arms around his waist for support.

The familiar golden witch was flying towards them, but as she got close she teasingly looped around them. The crowed 'ooh'ed. Killistine wasn't far behind her – one good push and he might be able to grab her. Fred spun the broom around to follow.

The girl had looped again and was flying towards a spot below them.

"Down!" Angelina yelled. Without thinking she dropped upside down again. The girl literally tumbled into her outstretched arms.

ooo

The Portkey gave a sickening tug and they landed hard on the platform.

She expected to be helped up by a gracious Granddaughter, but she heard a moan from underneath her and realised that not only did she have a hard grip on the girl's shoulders; she was lying halfway on top of her.

Fred sat up dozily, half laying on top of Angelina, and was pulled to his feet by the fast talking Grandfather. Angelina managed to roll of Pili, hit by her familiar wave of Portkey sickness. The girl's mask had been knocked off in the commotion of having Fred, Angelina, and their broom land on top of her.

Angelina got a good look at the girl's face and gasped.

"Pili!"

ooo


	12. Chapter 12

**Title**: Fireworks

**Author**: Emmylou

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all its characters and concepts, are the creation of JK Rowling.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Angelina and Fred's relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

**A/N**: **wayweird** – was that speechless in a good way or a bad one?

ooo

The girl pressed her face to the platform so the crowds could not see, desperately scrabbling about for her mask.

Fred had seen too, and looked towards The Grandfather. Did that mean that Mr. Donkor was The Grandfather?

Pili managed to slip her mask into place and got shakily to her feet as the crowd roared around them. No one seemed to have seen the mask slip off except her and Fred.

She hugged Fred and kissed Angelina's cheek as she did to all winners and handed them their sack of gold. The Grandfather clapped his arm around Fred's shoulder as though showing him off to the crowd.

When the crowd had quieted enough Pili pressed them towards the trapdoor and they made their unsteady way down the rope ladder.

"No wonder she wasn't at home to stop the robbery!" said Fred as he tried to push through the pressing crowd.

"Konzo must have been in on it too!" said Angelina.

One drunken wizard poked her bottom with his wand. She turned and whacked him with her broom.

"I want a word with Pili and good old Donkor Senior tomorrow, that's for sure!" shouted Fred as several witches pressed parchment for him to sign into his hands.

ooo

They made a show of waving to the crowd before beating a hasty path back to Donkor's. They didn't bother with the door, but squeezed back through the window to their room.

"You're a genius!" whooped Fred. He hugged her before she could fight him off. "We won _and_ you found the identity of The Granddaughter!"

"I think this family has more secrets than we thought," said Angelina. "And I for one want to hear their story."

She marched towards the bedroom door, ready to raise the whole house, but Fred grabbed her wrist.

"Get off!" she snapped. "I know you trust them enough to throw money at them like sweeties, but I want to _know_!"

"Firstly, you're still in your nightie," said Fred.

Angelina, unwilling to acknowledge Fred's correctness, marched back to her trunk and snatched up some robes.

"And you stole my broom!" she snapped. "Don't think I've forgotten. While you were spewing that 'I I do love you…please don't leave me…boo hoo' rubbish you were sneaking around to find my broom!"

"I don't _want_ you to leave me!" yelled Fred.

"Well you've got a fine way of showing it," she said in a perfectly normal voice that had an edge of steel. "I suppose you're really happy now you've got enough money to waste on that stupid family." She looked disdainfully at the bed, where Fred had tossed the bag of gold.

"I didn't win it for them!" shouted Fred. "I wanted to win it so you and me could buy that _stupid _holiday home even if we've blown business here!"

He snapped his mouth shut and spun to face the window, embarrassed as boys get when they show lots of emotion.

Angelina let her body take control and burst into tears that washed away any plans she'd made.

"Bugger you, Fred," she hiccupped. "How do you keep winning me over?"

ooo

They left things to breakfast in the end. Angelina and Fred had spent the night making up and apologising for every perceived mistake and insult they had made in the last month. Angelina didn't really feel sorry for some of them, but at least the air was cleared.

They made plans to look into holiday homes as soon as they got back to England.

"I can't say I like leaving things like this," said Fred as he set about packing up his stuff. "It could have been an amazing firework."

They decided to talk to Pili at breakfast and find out the truth before leaving and when they reached the breakfast table they sat down with a united front.

They weren't the only ones. Mr. Donkor had taken his son's place at the head of the table this morning as a blissfully unaware Donkor and his family scoffed on sausage and scrambled eggs. Pili kept her eyes fixed firmly on her plate.

"My father has decided to join us for breakfast!" said Donkor joyously. "He must have heard about your great win last night, eh?" Donkor nudged Fred.

"I'm sure he did," said Angelina primly.

"A fine way to save our business!" said Donkor. He clapped Fred on the back.

Angelina froze.

"Actually," said Fred awkwardly. "The money is not being used to further the business."

Angelina relaxed and began scooping scrambled eggs onto her plate. She noticed that Donkor's father had stiffened.

Donkor's smile was gone. "Surely you are joking-" he began.

"We wanted to talk about last night," said Angelina. She glanced over to Pili who was trembling.

"What's there to discuss?" said Mr. Donkor gruffly. He glanced at Angelina with what she might have thought of as a pleading look.

Angelina changed tact and looked firmly at Pili. Pili squirmed.

"I think Pili has something to tell us about why the plans got stolen…" Fred prompted.

"What?" snapped Donkor.

Pili burst into tears, her voice a wail.

"Oh father! I'm sorry! It's my fault the plans for the firework got stolen…_I'm_ the Granddaughter…I wasn't with Konzo at all…I came back and he was searching the house and I was still in my outfit and he said that if I didn't tell him where father kept the plans he'd tell everyone!"

"You gave the plans away?" snarled Donkor, slamming his goblet onto the table. "To Konzo? Why would he want them?"

"You're The Granddaughter?" cut in one of the brothers. "This cannot be – I had a bet on that she's really the seeker in-"

"Shut up," snapped Donkor.

Pili cried even harder. Her mother moved around the table to stroke her hair.

"His name's not Garai Konzo," Pili wept. "It's Gary Zonko! He- he is Zonko's son. He and his father plan to put Weasley out of business. He is not blind…the hat was so you could not see his face. He covered for me and said that I was with him!"

"And he spoke such good English because he _is_ English," finished Angelina.

"Konzo! The Granddaughter!" wailed Mrs. Donkor. "You have lied and lied to us!"

"Never mind this!" shouted Donkor. "She could be the Queen of England for all I care…a spy has been working for us all along!"

"Everyone in Egypt will know her name-" mused one of the brothers. "Yours too father!"

All eyes turned to Mr. Donkor who was sitting, stony faced, at the head of the table.

Fred said what Angelina felt most strongly at that moment.

"What in Merlin's name is going _on_?"

ooo

Ooh, we're not at the end yet! One more chapter!

I've been really paranoid since I introduced Konzo that it would be blindingly obvious that he was a spy. So if you did or didn't figure it out, I'd love to know.


	13. Chapter 13

**Title**: Fireworks

**Author**: Emmylou

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all its characters and concepts, are the creation of JK Rowling.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Angelina and Fred's relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

**A/N**: Well, here we are folks, the end! It's taken twelve lunch hours and countless time at home, but we're done. I'd like to thank every single one of my reviewers, _especially_ the ones that reviewed more than once, put me on their favourites or alerts, or added me to C2 communities. You all made me squee madly.

ooo

Mr. Donkor was quiet for a moment and Angelina thought he might not answer. Then he sighed.

"I started The Granddaughter six years ago. Pili was such a wonderful flier and so very keen. I gave her my old broom to use and soon we were the talk of Egypt. It was a welcome distraction after years of being cooped up in that room. Then the government got involved – crowd control, Anti-Muggle spells, the news…within six months it was run for us. We collected meagre fees for our roles but no more."

"I don't even want to be the Granddaughter any more!" said Pili hotly, teaks still trickling down her face. "I don't want to race – I want to be a Seeker, and I don't want to fly your broom – I want one of my _own_!"

Mr. Donkor sighed again. "As you can see, Pili has tired of her role in recent months."

"Never mind this!" snapped Donkor. "What about business?"

"I say that Weezley goes back to England and sticks a firework right up Zonko's-" began one of the brothers before Mrs. Donkor could shriek in distaste.

"Whatever we do to Zonko, we have no money for new products!" wailed Donkor. Donkor sent a nasty look in Fred's direction.

"Look," said Fred desperately. "There's just a line I won't cross and this is it. I won't give you those winnings."

"It is thanks to my father you even have that money!" snarled Donkor.

His father whacked his son's knuckles with his wand. "It is thanks to _your_ terrible business sense he needs to give us anything at all!"

The conversation was soon reduced to squabbling- Donkor, his father, and Fred over the business, the brothers over their various lost bets, Mrs. Donkor nagging her daughter, and Pili still complaining about The Granddaughter.

It was oppressively hot in the room and still uncomfortably crampt. Angelina excused herself to go and check on the travel news.

ooo

Fred was in their room when she returned from her walk. They would be leaving in thirty minutes and Fred was tipping the few parts of his wash-kit that had survived the theft back into his trunk. He had a grim, defeated expression.

It seemed a terribly wet ending. Fred had failed, the Donkor family was ruined, Pili was doing a job she hated, and she, Angelina, was about to become a Cauldron Rep.

"Hey Fred," she said meekly. She tiptoed into the room. There was an occasional shout from downstairs as twenty years of old beefs and arguments were thrust onto the table.

"Hi Angelina, are you ready to go?"

"Been ready for a week."

They stood silently.

"I'm sorry about the whole trip," said Fred with a whooshing breath.

"I really didn't want it to end like this for anyone," said Angelina. She hefted the bag she was carrying and passed it to Fred. "Here are your winnings."

Fred held the bag silently for a moment before a look of confusion crossed his face. "But I already packed the winnings…"

He opened the bag. Gold glittered up at him.

Angelina reached over and kissed him softly. "I didn't say they were the winnings from The Granddaughter," she murmured. "They are _your_ winnings for keeping your promise and not giving the gold away."

Fred gaped. "But where did you get it?" he breathed.

Angelina shrugged modestly. "I sold my broom. That makes really rare over here. And it won The Granddaughter twice. I won't need my broom back home. The auction got quite – uh –_heated_. I got enough to make _ten_ fireworks and maybe get us a Jacuzzi for our holiday home."

"Jacuzzi?" repeated Fred absently.

Angelina sighed and put her hands on her hips. "Merlin knows we'll get no sense out you at this rate. Go downstairs and build your silly fireworks."

Fred swallowed hard, nodded, and dashed towards the door. He was halfway down the corridor before he remembered to rush back and kiss her.

ooo

There was a big celebration that night. Angelina had graciously put off her trip home until her originally planned two weeks were over.

Fred had finally pressed Mrs. Donkor to cook some food that was slightly Egyptian and the talk was loud and happy as Fred and Angelina finally got to eat something with spices in.

After much squabbling, the family had resolved to keep the knowledge of The Granddaughter a secret and the brothers had been banned from making any bets as to the identity.

Mr. Donkor, pleased to be no longer considered an invalid, had taken the reigns of his business once more and Donkor himself seemed pleased to once again be making the fireworks themselves rather than running things. There had been several calls by Floo to George and production of the first Weasley-Donkor firework would be in production in less than a week.

Mrs. Donkor had steered everyone into the parlour and some rather drunken dancing was occurring (as much as one could dance in the parlour, as it was even smaller than the hall).

"Can I have a word with you, Johnson?" asked Mr. Donkor while Fred tried to twirl Pili without crashing her into the couch.

He steered her out into the hall and looked at her severely. "Pili hates The Granddaughter," he said. "She begs be every time to stop. I have been thinking of a way to free her for some time."

"Oh," said Angelina.

"I have decided to make The Granddaughter into a title that is handed down," he said. "That way a blood relation need not be forced to play."

"Really?" said Angelina, feeling faint. She had an inkling of what he was going to say…

"I invite you to take on the title of The Granddaughter," said Mr. Donkor.

Angelina clutched the hat stand for support. "Me?" she said weekly. "I-I'd be the star of the show?"

"Your flying is wonderful and you please the crowds. I can think of no one better," said Mr. Donkor.

"You don't have to divulge the secret either," said Angelina. "As far as anyone knows outside this house, nothing has changed."

Mr. Donkor nodded. "That is another reason."

Angelina nodded, her smile so huge that it almost hurt. "I'd love to!"

Back in the parlour Fred had tired of the dancing and was sitting playing Exploding Snap with one of the brothers while laughing at Donkor (who seemed to have gone to the school of Dad Dancing) twirling his wife around the room.

"I'd ask you, but with _us_ dancing we'd break the room up!" he said.

Angelina pulled him away from his game and quickly told Fred what had passed in the hall. Fred looked up to where Mr. Donkor had invited Pili to dance, clearly to tell her the happy news.

"I was thinking," she said, "doesn't Lee have some jobs going at the broomstick design company now? Pili told me – she wanted a broom by her own hand or none. This seems like a perfect opportunity for her."

Fred grinned. "I'll send the owl tonight, but…where would she live in England?"

Angelina kept her eyes fixed on the Exploding Snap game. "Well, there's always the pad. It…it wouldn't make much sense us living in England and working in Egypt."

Fred grabbed her hand. "So…we'd buy a regular home instead of a holiday one then?" he said.

Angelina looked at him, testing out this new theory in her mind. "What about you and George?"

Fred grinned. "I heard somewhere that if we get a dual citizenship we'll be able to Apparate from Egypt to England as easy as if we were nipping around the corner. I'd be able to see George and the business any time I liked."

Angelina didn't take her eyes off his. "I could live with that," she said.

Fred grinned, one of his face splitting, totally joyous grins. He stood up and tugged her up with him.

"Knick-knacks be damned," he said. "We're having a dance."

ooo

_Six months later;_

_Pili checked the slip of paper in her hands and looked up at the sign in front of her. She had not expected this at all – it was almost laughable that a dilapidated little shop like this had destroyed her father's business and damaged Weezley's. _

_Zonko's new shop was no more than a dingy workroom – nothing at all like the fine shop that belonged to Fred and George! Clearly the father and son team had yet to put their Destroy Weasley plan into action._

_She rang the bell and waited patiently for someone to answer. She briefly thought of her plans for tonight, Lee was cooking her dinner and taking her to a Cannons game. She liked the Cannons; they made her laugh with their silly flying. Lee liked her a lot and said one day he'd like to marry her. He liked the work she did too, her first design was going to be made into a real broomstick, and she would be free to have one of the first off the production line. England, she thought, really suited her. _

_The door creaked open and a young man with a sour expression appeared. He was about eighteen and very familiar, although the tea-towel that usually resided on his head was gone. His eyes were blue and perfectly able to see. _

_He froze as he recognised her – then he leant backwards as she shoved her wand to his throat. _

_She hefted a large, painful looking firework up to his line of sight._

"_I'm here to deliver this as a personal message from Fred and George Weezley!" _

ooo

**The End**

**A/N**: Well, it was a long journey, but we made it. I would love to hear any thoughts you have on my fic. Remember – less than 1 of readers review – let's change that statistic, shall we? I'm not begging. Honestly!

Seriously, I really enjoyed writing this. Thank you very much for taking the time to read.


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